Rinse
by Asphyxiated Angst
Summary: She doesn't know how she'll ever wash the day off herself...3...2...1...[a Marissa Cooper story] alcohol and suicide involved


Rinse

* * *

She's such a pretty little thing. I'm sure you would agree with that statement if you had seen her. She has these gorgeous eyes; they're so beautiful and soulful and the colour is a mixture of bright blue and tawny gold and just by looking into their depths you can almost see through the false smiles. She has the perfect lips, they're pink and pouty and she knows that with her perfected smiles she can bend anybody to her will. She has a lanky frame, she's quite tall, and thin with long legs and slight curves in all the right places. Her hair is golden and pretty, falling just past her scapula in a mass of golden layers. 

She's still in love with him, no matter what he did in the past, because she knows that the past is nothing to be judged on.

She's angry though, at him, at herself and at the world. She hates being mad, though she can't help it and she's not going to even bother to try and stop it, because she knows resistance is futile. It always is, it always has been and she can't change that.

And now it's 11:16 pm and she only has 44 more minutes to wash the day off, get ready and get to the big party like everybody knew she would.

This New Year's Eve she'll just sit and watch the couples dancing and chatting excitedly about how there's only precious seconds till 2005, then she'll see them counting down from 10 and then by about 3 they'll start leaning in, and she'll be watching from her corner enviously, hoping for her knight in shining armour to come through the door and save her.

…again.

But she knows that this time it won't happen so she cuts…with the sharp glittering razor blade held between two thin fingers and looks at her wrist wistfully and positions it over the veins. She pushes her hand down over the veins and drags the little razor blade over them, sighing slightly as she sees the blood.

By now she feels a bit better, so she isn't all that angry at the world anymore, but then again, there'll always be some hatred for the world, because she thinks, this is what made her this way, after all. But she cant be completely mad at it because she knows that somewhere deep down, she likes this new her, because after all, now she can finally fend for herself, and she likes the fact that she's dark now, after all it seems so much more fitting to be this way.

Now she's past angry and she's fallen deep into sad, because now it's 11:23 and she doesn't know how she's gonna wash the day off herself or be able to breathe again.

Sometimes she remembers things that she shouldn't, because summer was so long ago and love should have stayed back where it belonged, with glittering eyes and toothy grins, exchanged by more-than-friends.

She remembers the handholding sometimes, when she's so fucking drunk that nothing else matters to her. It's all in the past though, with the kisses that were no longer innocent and tasted of alcohol and stale cigarettes.

But now she gets out of her reverie and has seemingly almost forgotten that her arm has been bleeding for a while now.

So she carelessly makes her way to the bathroom, and opens the medicine cabinet that hovers above the sink. She pulls out her fluffy melon pink towel out and brings it into her bedroom.

She unfolds the towel and pours the contents of it out and onto the childish baby pink comforter draped across her queen-sized bed.

Yellow and orange blend in with white and pink and black and blue and she doesn't even care that she's falling.

Prescription pills for depression, sleeping pills, pre-natal vitamins, little white pills for iron and Aspirin and Tylenol, bandages and bandaids, mixing with the gauze and the silver razor blades. Bottles: some half-empty, others filled almost to the brim with different labels printed on them.

She closes her eyes and remembers better days of black lace and emerald silk for a few minutes before re-opening her heavy eyelids and taping a gauze patch to the still bleeding cut.

She winds white bandage around her forearm and it twists around and around like a monotonous candy cane, so she quickly tucks one end into the white cloth and forgets about her arm because she is almost numb by now and doesn't care.

She lifts one of the transparent glass bottles and looks at the red label 'Vodka 300 mL', that was good, it would last her for a while, at least until she got to the party, she knew that there would be so much more to drink over there.

She pulls the lid off the half-empty bottle and lifts it to her lips. She sips a few times and she lets the clear liquid burn down her throat, and she thinks to herself that maybe she can cleanse herself and free herself with it, this time.

She drinks more rapidly this time and doesn't care that it's burning so much that the tears are starting to slightly sting at the corners of her eyes.

Soon enough her vision starts to slightly blur and she thinks that it is almost enough now. She takes a few more baby sips, letting the taste sink in and she decides that now it is time to stop drinking, after all, by now she has started seeing double.

11:31 and the effects of the alcohol are starting to wear off, and she thinks, she probably didn't drink that much of it, after all.

She walks back into the bathroom, legs wobbling slightly, reminding her of wobbly jell-o she used to make with her aunt, but it was so long ago, after all, she was only four when she did that. She giggles slightly at the memories that that single drunken thought brings back.

She sheds her miniskirt, even though it is one of her favourites, it's black, with aqua blue stars, and a blue ribbon that ties around her hips and holds it all together, and two layers of black frills, it's so feminine, some people think it's a wonder that she likes it, not that anybody knew her; to say the least. The top is pretty too, an aqua blue tank top, ending just above her hips, showing minimal skin, her mother would be so proud, not that she cared either way.

She makes the water hot and slips her underwear off before walking into the bath and letting the hot water scald her body.

She dunks her head under and emerges with trails of mascara mixed with eyeliner beneath her eyes, smeared lipstick and gloss, washed off foundation and concealer and discoloured blush.

She doesn't look that pretty anymore.

She washes her hair, cleans her body, steps out and pulls the plug.

11:45 she wraps a fluffy pink towel around her body and wraps another one around her hair, after towel-drying it for a minute or two.

She pulls the corner of the towel that she had tucked in and it falls to the floor, revealing her naked body. She pulls on her black boylegs and her black push up bra and pulls a dress over her head.

He liked this dress, she remembers. It's a black Chinese-style one, falls to her mid-thigh, red trim, and red flowers going down from her right breast, all the way to her right hip. Then there was a small, slightly stretchy waistband, and the dress flowed down from there.

She pulled her black 4-inch stiletto knee-high boots over her legs and zipped them to the top, before quickly walking over to her little vanity table.

11:48 she has a few minutes to be there.

She puts on her concealer, spreads some liquid foundation around her face and looks in the mirror. She wipes her hands with a baby wipe quickly and reaches into one of her drawers and grabs a bag. She unzips it quickly and pours the contents out onto the white wood. Contact cases came flying out onto the table. She opened each case. Blue, True Sapphire, Green, Grey, Brown, Honey, Turquoise, Amethyst and Pure Hazel. She closed all of them but the Honey and popped them in. she then lined her eyes in black, and then expertly coated her long lashes in waterproof black mascara. She then quickly put ruby red lipstick on her lips and put a transparent, sparkly lip-gloss over it.

She quickly pulls the contact case, lip-gloss, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara into a small black handbag and exits the room.

She walks into her car and drives for a few minutes before getting out and locking it.

11:55 and she walks into the house being greeted by a happy-looking Summer. She wore a bright blue skirt, falling just past her calves and a sheer black lacy ¾ wrap-around top over a bright blue tank top. She wore black kitten heels and a loose black boho-like belt. Her brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun, a bright blue flower clip held any loose hair into place. She had kept her makeup neutral, barely there blush and almost skin-toned lipstick.

She walked into the house and sees Seth in deep conversation with a nerdy-looking blonde-haired boy, and almost smiles at the memories that resurface, after so long.

11:56 and there is Theresa, looking positively pregnant. She wore black pants, which rested just below her bloated stomach and a low-cut red t-shirt.

She sees Ryan, getting two bottles of water from the fridge, she wants to scream at him to notice her, but she knows that it doesn't work that way.

So she flips her mass of golden hair flirtatiously at the tall brown haired boy that throws a sexy smile her way.

She makes her way into the next empty room and looks around.

11:58 she has a bottle of little yellow pills in one hand and a rather large bottle of Whiskey in the other.

She walks into the bathroom and puts the plug into the bathtub. She combines extremely hot water with cold, until it just barely scorches her and she lets the water drip until the tub is almost filled to the top.

She opens her little bag up and pulls a little razorblade out of it. She lays this on a corner of the tub before she gets into the hot water.

She pulls the little bottle of pills open and laughs inwardly at how there is a childproof seal on them, it wasn't going to do her any good now. She pours all the small pills out onto her palm and suddenly wonders how something so small could kill you just by taking one too many.

She pops one into her mouth – but only after spinning the lid off of the Whiskey – and she lifts the half-empty bottle to her lips and takes a sip.

She could hear that the counting had already started outside. They were down to 7.

She quickly popped half the pills in her mouth, downing them with whiskey. She then took the razorblade from its place and made a diagonal gash across her left wrist. She popped 10 more pills in her mouth…

"5…" she heard the voices outside.

…she swallowed some whiskey with them, before making another long, diagonal gash, next to the original one, identical too.

She was getting numb by now and her eyelids were getting heavy.

"3…"

She popped the remaining 14 strong-relief pain pills in her mouth, washing them down with the now tasteless whiskey.

She took a last gash, going along the two previous ones, still diagonal though, it was trick she had picked up from somewhere she doesn't quite remember, from someone she never really knew, in a place that she shouldn't have even been. Seems that should somebody find you it's harder to stitch you up that way. It was odd how those little details stayed with you, even though at that time you never would have thought that you would have to use them.

She didn't know why she had even bothered to cut diagonally - it would have been painful had she not take the pills prior – it wasn't like anybody was going to find her anyway.

She closed her eyes and the last thing she saw was the door open, and a shocked face, yelling at something and trying desperately to revive her.

The last thing she had said was "We all knew it was gonna happen eventually, I just didn't want to fucking bother with prolonging the inevitable. Happy fucking New Year. Tell Theresa that I'm sorry this all had to happen on her birthday." She said, sarcasm dripping from her barely-there voice.

And her eyes drooped, as her wrist fell into the slowly cooling water, giving it a pink tinge.


End file.
